


Unasked

by tigerontheprowl



Series: Houses of sand, castles of glass. [2]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Backstory, Break Up, Canon Compliant, M/M, Minor Violence, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 23:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20182636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerontheprowl/pseuds/tigerontheprowl
Summary: Sarah never considered herself the motherly type, and Thomas didn't need her help, anyway. Character exploration and backstory.





	Unasked

**Author's Note:**

> Set shortly after Thomas arrives at Downton. There is a domestic altercation in the chapter.

Thomas didn’t much like any of them. The old man Carson could find a flaw in anything, and seemed to be particularly eager to find flaws in Thomas right from the start. Of course, Thomas did his best to make sure there weren’t many to be found, just to spite the old bastard.

He didn’t like the gossiping kitchen maids, either, and didn’t care for the cook one way or the other. The girl Daisy fluffed about him like she wasn’t quite all there, and– while funny– it was losing its charm quickly. 

The rest of the maids he mostly ignored, as they kept to their work and ignored him right back, which he was fine with. The only people he didn’t dislike by default were the Lady’s maid, and Mrs. Hughes. Mrs. Hughes had said good things about him when Carson was showering him in criticism, and though he suspected that wasn’t a favor for him so much as it was just her trying to keep up her image as fair, it at least made it so Thomas wouldn’t go out of his way to be nasty to her for a while yet. 

The Lady’s maid seemed, to Thomas, the only one with any sense. She was also brave enough to say exactly what was on her mind, and that was the sort of thing he could admire. Still, despite the mutual respect between them, Thomas and O'Brien weren’t exactly friends. They barely spoke, and so Thomas just counted her as another face in the crowd at Downton.

He breezed through his work with ease– you could say what you wanted about him, but no one could call Thomas a poor worker. He completed every task set to him, and he did so with poise and professionalism, like he’d been doing it for years instead of months. It served to alienate him from everyone far quicker than his poor temperament could. 

Thomas found he didn’t mind it, because it meant they stayed out of his business. He spent his off-time in town, not keen to stay at Downton when there was no work to be done. He had a certain someone staying in a flat just near the post office, and the relationship had been going quite well.

While Thomas was taking his off-day, he went to visit this someone in town, expecting it to go as usual: some talking, some laughing, some kissing, and all that business. What he was met with was vastly different.

Adam, as this someone was called, picked a fight with Thomas almost immediately. They were both men of ill-tempers, so arguing happened from time to time, but that particular argument was different. It grew, bloating quickly, until it exploded well beyond the point of no return. It turned into war. 

“How long did you think this was going to last? Things like us don’t get storybook endings!” Adam was screaming, but Thomas rarely raised his voice, even when thoroughly furious. 

“You don’t have to rely on your parents’ money.” Explaining that to Adam was pointless, of course, but Thomas was going to try anyway. “I left home and got a job proper, I’m doing just fine. But you’re such a bloody coward, you let them dictate every aspect–”

“Don’t get high-and-mighty with me, Thomas Barrow! Not all of us are content to waltz into the local Earl’s home to bow and scrape for a living.”

“Maybe you ought to be. You’re certainly happy to bend for everyone else, your life wouldn’t change much.”

Adam punched him, square in the jaw, and once Thomas got his bearings back he was more than happy to return the gesture. He’d come to have a romantic evening, and it had ended in barbed words and a fist fight. 

When the fight had died down– both men so tired it wasn’t clear who was the victor– Thomas didn’t waste his precious time with apologies or “why did this happen?” He just left, and that was the last time he saw or heard from Adam.

He came home late, having had a few drinks at the pub, and on the walk home the whole thing sunk in. He’d liked Adam, and that wasn’t something he said often about many people. Maybe it wasn’t quite love, but it was getting there, and just like every boy before the pressure of the whole thing had got to him. Thomas had never bent to the fear, but that was more than he could say for most of the people he’d been intimate with. Inevitably, they’d all gone running when it became clear that having an illegal relationship wasn’t as easy as they’d thought it would be. 

Thomas wasn’t keen on going to prison, either, but there was a difference between caution and cowardice.

Sitting in the downstairs kitchen, long after everyone else had gone to bed, he reached up and touched one of the sore spots on his face where Adam’s fist had connected. All those months, and now all he had left from it were bruises. He prodded idly at the flesh, letting it hurt, willing himself to be indignant and angry about it. Really, though, he was just tired. Tired, and if he really was honest with himself, sad.

“Where’ve you been off to all night?” His thoughts were interrupted by O'Brien’s sudden appearance, dressed for bed and staring at him expectantly.

Thomas didn’t answer her, instead taking that as his cue to leave. He didn’t make it past O'Brien before she spoke again. “Can’t imagine he was worth it." 

That made him stop. Maybe the surprise registered on his face, because she added, "women don’t hit like that.” It was as good an explanation as any, and he really didn’t care to know the true reason she knew, anyhow.

“You always want to think they are,” he answered her earlier statement, trying his best not to seem phased. “I’m an eternal optimist.”

For some reason, she cared. “Don’t let that optimism get you into trouble.”

Thomas didn’t answer, just glancing at the floor, staring past it. She pressed on.

“It’s done with, I wager,” she said. “Anyone who puts ‘is hands on you isn’t worth your time.”

“I know that much. Besides, I put my hands right back on him in exchange.”

“Good.” They made eye contact for a moment, and Thomas tried to read her motives, but found he couldn’t. It was frustrating, but he also found comfort in the idea that her concern– uninvited as it was– might have been sincere.

“I can take care of myself,” he said defensively, without any sort of prompting. He just felt it needed to be said.

“Oh, no doubt,” O'Brien replied, turning to leave. She stopped just outside the doorway, her back to him.

“Thomas?”

“What?” He could’ve sworn their conversation should’ve been over by now.

“If anyone asks, I opened the door, and it smacked you in the face.” She didn’t wait for him to agree, just left without another word, leaving him to stand dumbstruck in the middle of the kitchen.

“Like I’m an abused housewife,” he mumbled to the air. Still, that excuse would work better than “I got in a fight.” His position was still too fresh to start having them thinking him a troublemaker.

When Carson inquired to the bruises on his face the next day, the door got the blame. When Thomas next saw O'Brien out in the yard about to have a smoke, he offered her one of his cigarettes. It only seemed fair.


End file.
